


The Space Between

by takola



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drug Addiction, M/M, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takola/pseuds/takola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And then you disappeared. For 10 years, Eames. All I needed was one phone call. A text message, a fucking postcard. Just <i>something<i></i></i> to let me know you were alive! I thought you were dead!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyVader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVader/gifts).



> I wrote this fic as a gift for LadyVader forever ago, and have only gotten around to fixing it up now. I owe Arineat my first-born at this point, because she did the best beta-job on it. Seriously, it would be illegible without her. Thank you, Rinny! Any mistakes left are mine alone. 
> 
> There is mention of coming off heroin cold turkey. I have never done this. Nobody else should do this. (Really, don't!) I did a little research and tried to make it as realistic as possible (it's not particularly graphic - it's mentioned in the past tense) but in the end, this fic did come from my imagination so it might not be completely believable.

**Prologue**

“You’re really leaving? For the entire summer?” 

Arthur shoved his books into his locker and closed it swiftly before turning to meet Caitlyn’s eyes. She looked upset and Arthur’s gut twisted a little in response.

“Well, for most of it. My grandma’s not well. Someone has to stay with her and I’m the only one who can right now.”

Caitlyn’s face fell. “I’m sorry about your grandma.” She smiled at him, a pale imitation of her usual bright grin. 

Arthur sighed inwardly. They’d been dating for three months and Caitlyn was great. She was smart and beautiful and she’d understood every obscure dorky joke Arthur had ever told her. Sometimes she’d even had really funny and appropriate replies. She was perfect for him.

So Arthur didn’t understand why his mind and heart didn’t _get_ that. She was perfect for him and he felt only a fond affection for her. It was so frustrating.

Mentally shaking himself, Arthur forced a smile, sure Caitlyn could see the frustration that showed plainly in his eyes. He reached out, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, watching as her smile faded and her blue eyes softened sadly.

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“I-” Arthur stopped, unsure of how to explain. Taking a deep breath, he began again. “It’s not-”

Caitlyn’s laughter cut through the words, her face momentarily alight with humor. 

“Please, Arthur, don’t use the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line on me.” 

Arthur laughed awkwardly, his eyes fixed on the floor, too embarrassed to meet Caitlyn’s eyes. Had he really been about to say that? Geez!

“Hey.” Caitlyn’s smile was gentle as she brushed Arthur’s fringe back from his eyes. “It’s okay. I understand, really.” 

She reached up to press her lips firmly to his cheek. 

“I hope your grandma gets better,” she said still smiling, before turning and walking away.

Arthur sighed with relief and leaned against his locker for a couple of seconds. His forehead was still pressed against the cold metal when he felt someone’s presence behind him. 

“I need your help, Reed.”

+++++

“You want me to _what?_ ” Arthur stared incredulously at the long streak of misery tucked into his passenger seat.

Eames looked like shit. There were deep purple circles under his eyes, his hair was greasy and hung lankly. Arthur was pretty sure he’d be able to count his ribs, if he weren’t wearing that God awful grey hoodie he loved so much.

Theirs was an odd friendship. Actually, Arthur wasn’t even sure you could call it a friendship. They didn’t really talk or hang out at all. It was more a case of asking each other for random favors every so often. 

Eames had transferred to Brookfield High School two years before. Arthur could still remember it perfectly. Eames had stood awkwardly at the front of first period English and told Mrs Philips that his name was “just Eames – you know, like Heathcliff” in that perfect British accent.

The entire class had snickered and instead of being embarrassed as Arthur had expected, Eames had smirked self-assuredly and thrown himself into the desk next to Arthur’s. 

Three months later, Eames had sat across from Arthur in the canteen, pushed a scrap of paper towards him, and said, “You’re good at drawing, Reed. Can you draw this... better?”

There had been a rough sketch of a tribal design on the page. It’d looked simple enough, all clear cut lines and Arthur hadn’t thought before he’d grabbed a page from his bag and begun sketching it. A matter of minutes later, he had pushed the page across the table, eyebrow raised in question.

Eames had looked it over quickly before rolling the page up, nodding at Arthur, and leaving without so much as a thank you. That was how their “friendship” went.

“And where the hell have you been for the last two months?” Arthur asked, forcing his thoughts back to the present. 

Eames smirked at him. “Why? Did you miss me?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer that. 

Eames moved eventually. He dug his hands into his pockets, pulled out a key, and handed it to Arthur. “I seem to have developed a bit of a problem with a particular narcotic, Reed, and I need you to help me fix it.”

Arthur stared at the key in his hand before raising his eyes to look at the building they were parked in front of. It was a tiny, dilapidated brick shed that looked as if one strong wind would blow it down. The door looked solid, though, and there were bars on the single window. There were no other buildings around as far as Arthur could see. They were in the middle of nowhere. Eames had directed Arthur the entire drive out.

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to lock you into that _shed_ and - don’t give me that look Eames, the walls may be concrete, but it’s a shed - and come back in 14 days to let you out? Are you out of your mind?”

“Apparently, yes.” Eames sounded amused and Arthur barely resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

“What are you addicted to?” Arthur looked over in time to see Eames’ jaw tense. He turned his face towards the passenger window.

“Heroin.” 

“Fuck.” Arthur leaned forward to rest his head on the staring wheel and closed his eyes.

“Look, it’s fine, Reed. I have everything I need inside. All you have to do is lock the door.” Eames sounded somewhere between defensive and pleading.

“Eames, you can’t be serious. There are treatment centers for this sort of thing. You can’t expect me to leave you locked up in the middle of nowhere, _alone_ , for fourteen days while you come off _heroin_ cold turkey! What if you hurt yourself? What if there’s a fire? There are _bars_ on that window! You won’t be able to get out.” Arthur was aware of his voice rising, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

“Actually, that’s the point.” Eames’ voice was barely audible. “I’m not sure I’ll be quite so determined when the withdrawal really kicks in, so I want to be sure I can’t get out.”

“Look, I’ll take you to one of the treatment centers. We’ll go now. You’ll get clean there, with the proper medical care!” Arthur was begging now, his voice shaking.

Eames shook his head. “I’m not going to a medical center. I need to do this cold turkey. It has to be painful, Reed. I need to remember the withdrawal every time I think I need a hit. I need to be too fucking terrified to want it! I don’t want any replacements, I just want this shit out of my system. I’ll be fine. I have everything I need inside. Look, you’re the only person I can ask to help me. Please, Arthur!”

Arthur startled at the use of his first name and his eyes lifted to meet Eames’ automatically. Eames looked scared, almost on the edge of tears, and before Arthur knew he was going to, he was nodding. 

“Okay,” he whispered.

Eames’ breath released in a huff and relief passed in a wave over his face. 

“Thank you,” he whispered in reply, his voice trembling in the space between them.

Arthur leaned his forehead against the staring wheel again, closing his eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone, though. I’ll come by and check on you every day. I don’t leave for my grandma’s for three weeks. You think you’ll be clean by then?”

He turned his head, not bothering to lift it from the wheel. Eames was nodding, a small smile playing on his lips, all trace of tears gone now. 

“One thing, if you are going to come out here, though.” He looked at Arthur then, eyes totally serious. “You can’t let me out before the two weeks are up. No matter what I do, or say. No matter if I beg. You can’t let me out.”

Arthur swallowed, then took a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”  
   
 **10 years later**

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, where are they?”

Arthur was groggy. He wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, but today especially, he just wanted to crawl back into bed. He’d been up most of last night working on the Matherson account and he was (semi-)functioning on three hours sleep. 

The coffee was taking forever to brew and at this rate he wasn’t going to have time to drink it anyway. He couldn’t find his wallet or his phone and he was already late. He was sure he’d left them on the coffee table last night, but they had obviously grown legs and _walked_ out of his apartment!  
Growling in frustration, Arthur scoured the table again and when it failed to meekly hand them over, he tore the cushions from his sofa to search under them. No luck there either. 

“Oh, for fuck sake!” He rubbed a hand over his face and was about to give in and go back to bed, damn the consequences, when his phone started ringing. Moving quickly, he followed the sound from the sitting room into the... bathroom? How the fuck had it gotten into the bathroom?

Arthur pulled the door open and peered inside. There, on the edge of the sink, sat both his phone and his wallet. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed them. He tucked his wallet into his pocket and answered the phone on his way to the kitchen.

His apartment wasn’t big or particularly flashy, but Arthur loved it. He’d bought it when he’d been made permanent at Saito and Cobb’s Accountancy firm. It was an open plan apartment with a large kitchen and living area. Light came in through two large windows and glass double-doors that led out onto the balcony. The light had been the major selling point for Arthur. He loved it. 

“I know I’m late, I’m on my way.” Arthur didn’t bother checking the display before answering. This early, it was only ever going to be Ariadne.

“Fall asleep on the couch again? I don’t know why you bothered buying a bed.” Ariadne’s tone was teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur mumbled under his breath as he grabbed his jacket and briefcase and ran out the door with one last mournful look at the full coffee pot. 

Ariadne had a habit of teasing Arthur about his sofa. He had rid himself of the leather furniture that had come with the apartment when he moved in, replacing it with the largest, comfiest black velvet three-piece he could find. If he spent more time sleeping there than in his bed, that was none of Ariadne’s business.

“Don’t forget the Wilson account is coming in today, Arthur. Cobb wants you in the meeting.” Ariadne always sounded too chipper in the morning. 

“I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Arthur hung up the phone as he reached the elevator.

If the start of this day was any indicator for the rest of it, it was likely going to be a disaster.

+++++

Arthur laid his head wearily on his desk and sighed with relief when Matherson finally left. Honestly, what was the point of paying an accountant if you weren’t going to listen to a single word they said? 

It was already two in the afternoon and Arthur _still_ hadn’t had a cup of coffee. He wasn’t quite sure how he was still functioning. This was the reason Arthur was unable to stifle the whimper that escaped him when Ariadne placed a steaming, fresh cup of coffee on his desk seconds later. 

Arthur was already reaching for it when he opened his eyes and saw that it was from the cafe across the street.

“Marry me?” Arthur said, just before he took his first, glorious sip.

Ariadne snorted. “Not a chance. I know what you’re like in the morning.”

They’d been friends since their first week of college. Ariadne had turned up an hour late to a lecture, dropped into the seat next to Arthur’s, and had promptly fallen asleep on his shoulder. They’d been inseparable after that and had even shared an apartment from second through fourth year. 

That they had both been offered jobs with the same accountancy firm had been a surprising, but welcome coincidence. They worked well together, though, a fact that Cobb had noticed quickly and took advantage of regularly.

“You’ll have to take it with you, I’m afraid,” Ariadne said. “Wilson will be here in five minutes. We have to move.”

Arthur groaned. He knew next to nothing about Wilson, only that he’d requested Arthur specifically. Arthur’s workload was already pretty full, which was why Ariadne was being included. 

Cobb and Saito were already in the board room exchanging greetings with another man when they arrived. 

“Ah. Arthur, Ariadne.” Cobb smiled when he saw them and Arthur felt his own, answering smile freeze on his face as the third man turned to face them.

Arthur found himself staring into achingly familiar blue eyes. Eyes that he hadn’t seen in ten years. 

Arthur stopped so suddenly that Ariadne collided with him and a startled squeak escaped her. He felt the blood drain from his face and knew that Ariadne was staring at him inquisitively, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Eames looked good. He stood just an inch or two shorter than Cobbs’ six feet. He’d filled out considerably since Arthur had last laid eyes on him, broad shoulders filling his white shirt and grey waistcoat combo nicely. His hair was shorter than Arthur remembered and his skin shone with a healthy glow. He was beautiful. 

“Hello, Arthur,” Eames said, a small smile on his lips.

Arthur dragged in a slow breath to compose himself. Putting on his best professional face, he held out his hand to shake. 

“Mr. Eames.” His voice was courteous and revealed nothing of his inner turmoil. He felt a sliver of satisfaction at the hint of surprise in Eames’ eyes. 

“You two know each other?” Saito sounded surprised.

“We’ve met,” Arthur replied quickly, before Eames could say anything. He bit his lip and looked away when Eames raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

Arthur introduced Ariadne as they took their seats and began to talk accountancy. Arthur listened intently to every word said, but couldn’t quite catch his breath throughout the meeting.

+++++

“So, who is he?” Ariadne asked casually, while swiping a French fry from Arthur’s plate. 

Arthur had to give it to her, she showed a startling amount of patience when the occasion called for it. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. 

“Just someone I knew in school. It’s been years. I was surprised to see him.”

The last time Arthur had laid eyes on Eames, he’d been going to his grandmother’s for the summer. Eames had promised he’d call. Arthur had bought the cell phone with his allowance to ensure he would be able to. But Eames hadn’t called. He hadn’t answered Arthur’s calls either. Arthur had tried to hide his anxiety from his grandmother, but there had been no point. She had seen right through him and a little over a month into his stay, she’d sent him home. Despite her numerous assurances that she would be just fine, Arthur had felt incredibly guilty for leaving her early.

He’d also been relieved. He could find Eames – make sure he was okay.

The following months had been hell for Arthur. He’d searched everywhere he could think of, but Eames had been nowhere to be found. The shack had been exactly as they’d left it. When school restarted, Eames had not returned. The police had shown little interest in a missing “junkie” and Eames’ father had seemed even less interested. Arthur had checked the rehab centers and hospitals in the surrounding areas, but his efforts had been fruitless. Eventually, he’d been forced to search the seedier parts of town. Nobody had seen Eames. From the information Arthur had gathered, he had been the last one to him before Eames had disappeared. 

Arthur had never stopped looking though. He’d spent his senior year searching. He’d gone to college, but had come back for every holiday and summer; sure Eames would turn up at his door. He’d kept his phone on him at all times, waiting for a call that never came.

Three years passed; waiting, always searching, but Eames never returned. Arthur had stopped pretending he was going to. He’d given into the thoughts that had haunted him for those three years and, eventually, he’d mourned.

“Uh huh.” Ariadne clearly wasn’t buying it. “Arthur, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. I thought you were going to faint!”

Arthur laughed at her choice of words, though there was little humor in it.

“He may be a little more than ‘someone I knew’,” he admitted. “It ... well... it didn’t end well. I really was surprised to see him.”

Ariadne gazed at him, concerned. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

Arthur pushed his plate away, appetite gone. “There isn’t much to say really.” He shrugged. “It was over almost before it began.”

Ariadne frowned. “It didn’t look like anything was ‘over’ to me.”

Arthur sighed, reaching for his coffee cup. He drained it in one long gulp, then winced when he noticed it was cold. Disgusting.

Ariadne stared at him worriedly and Arthur forced a smile. “So we may be due for a conversation.” He shrugged again. “Honestly, it’ll be fine, I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Maybe you should talk to Cobb about assigning the account to someone else. He’ll understand since there’s history between you two.”

Arthur shook his head and forced his arms into his jacket. “That’s really not necessary. We’ll be fine. Besides, you’re helping me with the account. Stop worrying.”

He threw some bills on the table. “Now come on, I have a late meeting with Connelly and you know what he’s like about punctuality.”

Ariadne grabbed her coat, grumbling about how Connelly should take meetings during work hours like everyone else.

+++++

Arthur sighed in relief and rested his back against the closed door of his apartment. Exhaustion tugged at his mind. He toed off his shoes, discarded his coat, and was already unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way to his bedroom. The bathroom filled with steam as he turned on the shower and he finished stripping quickly.

When the water was as hot as he could take it, he stepped under the spray. His skin took on a pink tinge and his muscles slowly relaxed as the hot water set to work. Mind blissfully empty, Arthur savoured the quiet after such an eventful day. He should be reeling. He knew that, but he felt oddly calm.

Eventually, Arthur dragged himself out of the shower and dressed in soft jeans and a t-shirt. He made his way to the kitchen where he perused the plethora of menu’s attached to his refrigerator before settling on pizza. 

Dinner ordered, he grabbed his briefcase and settled on the sofa, spreading the Wilson file out on the coffee table before him.

His mind wandered over the details he’d discovered in the meeting today. It wasn’t much to go on, all in all. Wilson Rehabilitation Center was located close to New York City and Eames was the manager. Eames had insisted that he wanted Arthur to be the center’s accountant and he’d agreed to hire Ariadne too when Arthur had made it clear that he couldn’t handle the account on his own.

Arthur’s first piece of advice in his professional capacity had been to fire himself and Ariadne and hire one dedicated in-house accountant instead. He smiled, remembering how Cobb had blanched. Eames had just laughed though.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he grabbed his wallet and made his way out to open it. Danny was faster than usual tonight. Arthur opened the door and felt his smile slide from his face like water.

Eames had discarded the suit and Arthur wasn’t quite sure how he managed to be even more attractive in blue jeans and a plain red t-shirt under a black leather bomber jacket, but he was and it hit Arthur like a punch to the gut.

Arthur stared, overwhelmed. A year ago – no, not even; _yesterday_ \- Arthur would have sworn he’d be delighted, euphoric even, to see Eames twice in one day! He’d spent years wishing for it. He’d _missed_ Eames. But right then, he felt like he was getting whiplash from so many emotions hitting him at once.

Eames was staring too, though his eyes were lower. Arthur hadn’t bothered with shoes and his feet were bare. He watched, transfixed, as Eames’ lips tugged up at the corners. Memory hit, sharp and forceful – those lips on his own, rough, biting, consuming, then soft, so gentle, his name spelled across his lips in a breathless whisper – and Arthur felt his breath catch.

Eames met his eyes at the slight gasp and they stared, hungrily, tongues wetting lips unconsciously. Eames took a step toward Arthur and – 

“Hey, Mr. Reed!” Danny came flying around the corner, grin stretched almost too big across his face and a pizza bag in his hands.

Air slammed into Arthur’s lungs, almost choking him, and he took a step back to allow Eames inside. He shivered when he felt Eames’ hand brush his own as he passed.

He turned to see Danny looking appreciatively at Eames’... butt? Huh. Danny caught Arthur staring and he blushed, cheeks going bright red. Arthur smiled, amused.

“It’s Arthur, Danny. How many times do I have to tell you? Mr. Reed was my father.” He said, exchanging the pizza box for a couple of bills. “Keep the change.”

Danny smiled at the tip. “Thanks, Mr. Reed!” He called, speeding away down the hall again. Arthur shook his head and resigned himself to the honorific.

He closed the door quietly, took a deep calming breath and then made his way into the living area. For once he was glad he’d listened to Ariadne’s advice and had hired a cleaning lady. He hated the idea of someone in his apartment, touching his stuff, but as he thought of the mess he’d left behind that morning, he thanked God for Maria.

Arthur came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Eames sprawled out on his couch. The jacket Eames had been wearing was gone and the lines of a tattoo showed where the t-shirt cut off on one arm. He sat with his head back, eyes closed and the long lines of his throat on display. Arthur had to tamp down the overwhelming urge to straddle his lap and trace those lines with his tongue.

Closing his own eyes for a moment, he attempted to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. He had better control than this. Tiredness hit like a sledge hammer and Arthur felt his shoulders slump.

“Can we just... not?” Arthur wasn’t even sure what he was asking, he just knew he was too tired to deal with this right now. 

Eames was staring at him when he opened his eyes, teeth worrying at his lower lip. 

“Arthur -” he started, but Arthur cut him off, breath escaping him in a sigh.

“I’m too tired, Eames. It’s been a long day. I just want to eat and go to bed. Can we do that?”

Eames smirked and Arthur rolled his eyes, realizing how his request had sounded. He was not blushing. He did not blush. Ever. 

“You know what I meant.” He said with a huff, clearing some of the coffee table and putting the pizza down. He opened the box and sat on the floor opposite Eames, who was devouring a slice before Arthur had even settled properly.

Some things never changed. The man still inhaled his food.

They ate in a comfortable silence for a while and Arthur was surprised they could slot together so well again so quickly. He remembered similar meals, in that third week when the worst had passed. Remembered thinking that everything would be okay then. 

Arthur shook himself, dragging his thoughts back to the present. No point in dwelling on the past, right?

“So, you run a rehab center?” Arthur said when they’d finished eating. He smirked then, “Oh, the irony.”

Eames laughed, nodding his head. “Who’d have thought?” He sounded almost wistful then, smiling at Arthur. “I was the janitor.”

Arthur quirked his eyebrows in question and Eames nodded again.

“There weren’t many job prospects for me when I moved to New York. There was lots of bar work but –” He shrugged. “It wasn’t a good idea.”

“So you took a job as a janitor... at a _rehab center?_ ” Arthur couldn’t quite believe it. 

Eames smiled again, his gaze on the coffee table. “They had a drop-in center, ran group sessions in the evenings. I suppose it’s similar to AA. I went once, just to see what it was like. Didn’t talk much, but Bill noticed me – Bill was the manager then. He cornered me as I was leaving. Offered me the job, said he could help me find a place to live.” The smile slipped slightly. “I was suspicious, of course, but I didn’t have many options.”

“It doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.” Arthur fiddled with the pizza box unconsciously, eyes on Eames’ face.

Eames’ expression turned pensive. He shook his head. “No. No harm.”

Arthur propped his chin on his hand, leaning forward. “So how did you go from the janitor to the manager?”

He cringed at the rhyme and Eames looked amused again. 

“I was good with the clients.” He shrugged again, a little self-deprecatingly Arthur thought. “Bill noticed and after a while he offered to pay for college tuition so I could be a counsellor there. I’d already overcome an addiction and I had an interest, so I jumped at the chance. I worked my up from there.”

“Huh.” Arthur was... in truth, Arthur felt like an utter fool. He’d spent years worrying, always thinking of the trouble Eames could be in. The thought that Eames might have just left? Might have just wanted to get on with his life and leave Arthur behind? That thought hadn’t even crossed Arthur’s mind. He’d been so certain Eames wanted to be with him. Oh, they’d never discussed it. Arthur never thought they had to. 

When he thought back now, he could see them, Eames’ plans to leave. He’d never talked about returning to school or about college applications. Arthur had chattered away about it to distract himself and Eames during those horrible weeks, but Eames had never participated. He’d spent most of those weeks drifting between miserable silences, screaming rages, and tearful agony. Arthur had just thought Eames hadn’t been thinking of the future.

But he’d kissed Arthur. Twice. _He’d_ initiated them both times, not Arthur. 

The first kiss had happened in the second week. Eames had been in one of his black moods and he had accosted Arthur when he’d arrived that day. Arthur had barely gotten the door locked before Eames had been there, pressed up against him. He had demanded the key, had insisted he was fine now, he could leave. But Arthur had been conscious of the promise he’d made and fourteen days hadn’t passed yet, so he’d refused. 

Eames had gotten angry. It hadn’t been the first time and Arthur had seen him at his worst already. He’d let him rant, just waiting it out. He hadn’t been expecting it when Eames had crowded back into his space, pressed his body flush against Arthur’s, and slammed their mouths together. He’d gasped and Eames had taken advantage, slipping his tongue past Arthur’s teeth to slide slickly against Arthur’s tongue. 

Arthur remembered the taste of mint, remembered laughing into the kiss, perhaps a little hysterically, when he’d realised Eames had brushed his teeth. Then he’d kissed him back, practically crawling into his skin in the process. 

They had kissed for what had seemed like forever. When Eames had pulled away, his lips had been red and swollen and they’d both been breathing hard. 

Eames hadn’t apologised and Arthur hadn’t wanted him to. It had been over a week before he’d kissed Arthur again, though, just before Arthur had left. That one had been soft, exploratory. It hadn’t had any of the desperation of the first.

Arthur now recognised it for what it had been: goodbye. Not the “see you soon” he’d taken it for at the time.

“Arthur?” Eames was sitting forward now, reaching out for him.

Arthur pulled back sharply and rose to move away. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“How did you find me?” He realized the question sounded stupid after he said it, but he didn’t bother rephrasing it.

Eames sat back, looking up to meet his gaze. 

“You had a plan, Arthur.” Arthur flinched at the reminder of his inane ramblings now. “You talked about it all the time. First was university and then you were going to find the highest paying job you could and buy an apartment here. Of course I knew to look for you here.”

Arthur nodded. He was predictable. He’d always known that. It shouldn’t sting.

He watched as Eames rose and put on his jacket. “I have to go,” he said, leaving a small card on the table. “I know you have the office number in your file, but my mobile is in there too.”

Eames hesitated at the door before turning to say, “It was really good to see you, Arthur.” 

He looked like he was about to say more, but instead he shook his head and let himself out. 

Arthur stood in the silence for several moments, letting it sink in. He moved on auto-pilot then, putting the pizza box into the trash and switching off the lights. He didn’t look at the card as he made his way to bed. 

Despite the exhaustion that plagued his mind, sleep proved elusive for much of the night.

+++++

Arthur ignored the card. He found himself checking almost obsessively to make sure it was still on the table every morning and before he went to bed, but he didn’t touch it. He didn’t call Eames either. 

He asked Ariadne to look after the Wilson account for the moment and concentrated on the accounts he already had. Ariadne didn’t question him, though it looked like it physically hurt to bite her tongue that hard. 

He worked. He came in early and stayed late getting everything up to date. If he was ahead of schedule, that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t last anyway. It never did. 

And no matter what Ariadne said, Arthur wasn’t avoiding anything. He was simply busy. Very busy. If he checked his phone more often than usual, that was nobody’s business but his own.

+++++

Arthur met Eames once over the following month. He was walking back to his office having seen Mr. Walters out. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see Eames until he was almost past him. He must have had a meeting with Ariadne.

“Hello, Arthur.” Eames’ smile was somewhat wary and Arthur stared for longer than was polite. He couldn’t help himself. Eames looked _nervous_. Arthur frowned in confusion and wondered what could make Eames look so rattled.

“Eames. Everything alright?” 

“Yes, fine thanks. How are you?” There was a hint of something Arthur couldn’t identify in Eames’ eyes. 

“I’m fine, thanks.” 

Eames just nodded, polite smile forcefully in place, and kept walking.

It was probably the most uncomfortable encounter they’d ever had. Arthur shook his head, baffled, and made his way back to his office. He ignored the voice in his head, telling him that if he’d just _bend_ a little and call Eames, maybe he wouldn’t be missing him now. Arthur wasn’t going to do that. Eames knew where he was if he wanted him. 

+++++

A week later, Ariadne ran out of patience.

“Okay, Arthur, I don’t know what is going on between you and Eames, but you two need to talk. To each other. Like adults.”

Arthur looked up, surprised at both the interruption and Ariadne’s outburst. He closed the file he was reading and raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

“This is getting ridiculous.” Ariadne looked mad, lips pinched and hands on her hips. “You look like death warmed over. I could swing out of those bags under your eyes. When is the last time you ate?” 

“I ate lunch at my desk. I’m fine.” he said soothingly, hoping to calm her down. It didn’t work. 

“No, you aren’t!” Ariadne threw her arms in the air, exasperated. “You forget that I know you. I know what you’re like when you’re stressed. You’re not sleeping and you did _not_ eat at lunch time – don’t look at me like that, I know when you’re lying to me!”

“Ari –”

“No, Arthur. Enough! You’ve been moping about in here for six weeks. _Six weeks!_ If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on between you and Eames, that’s fine. But you have to sort it out. I did not agree to handle the Wilson account on my own indefinitely and I will not sit around and watch you waste away in here because you are too damned stubborn to pick up the phone! Call him!”

She punctuated this speech by slamming his door. 

Arthur blinked, bewildered.

Perhaps it _was_ time to talk to Eames.

+++++

He decided against calling. Instead, Arthur finished early that afternoon and drove out to Wilson Rehabilitation Center. The drive took about forty-five minutes from his office. He parked close to the entrance and sat for several minutes, trying to order his thoughts. 

Wilson Rehab Center was an impressive building. Two steps led from the parking lot up to a large courtyard. The front wall was comprised of large glass windows and through them Arthur could see a rather stern-looking lady sitting behind a reception desk. Night was falling and the building was brightly lit.

Arthur checked his watch as he left the car, hoping it wasn’t too late for Eames to still be at work. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he noticed a slight drizzle. There was a chill in the air, a crispness that spoke of autumn giving way to winter.

Arthur stepped quickly through the door and relaxed minutely when a wave of heat hit him. The lady behind the desk – Abbie, her nametag read – looked up, a welcoming smile lighting her face. Now that he could see her properly, Arthur noticed that his first impression had been wrong. She looked to be in her fifties, lines showed around her eyes and mouth when she smiled. Her hair was blonde, cut at the shoulders, and her eyes were a dark chocolate brown. Her smile was kind, no hint of the perceived sternness.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

Arthur crossed to the desk, returning her smile. “Yeah, I was hoping to see Mr. Eames?”

Her smile looked a little amused now. “Mr. Eames,” she repeated. “And you would be?”

“Arthur Reed.” Arthur watched, perplexed, as Abbie’s smile became a grin. 

“Ah,” she said, and her eyes sparkled with mischief now. “If you just go through that door,” she said, pointing to the door opposite her desk. “Mr. Eames should be in the recreation room on the right.”

“Thank you.” Arthur smiled at her before making his way to the door. The hall was dark when he entered it. He could hear voices, though, and followed them until he came to another brightly lit room, its door wide open in invitation. 

Arthur stood just outside, checking to see if Eames was there before he entered. The room was large and inviting with cream-colored walls and a plush, deep-red carpet – the kind you wanted to curl your toes into. There was a fire burning merrily in the fireplace opposite the door and it threw warm shadows across the room towards Arthur. Three large, chocolate brown sofas were arranged in a rough semi-circle facing the fire. 

The voices were coming from Arthur’s right and he peered cautiously inside. There was a large pool table set up along the right side of the room and four men stood casually around it. Arthur recognised Eames immediately. He stood out against the black background of two large windows behind him.  
Eames looked relaxed, smiling widely while standing with a pool cue held in front of him with both hands. He wore dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. The tattoo on his arm peaked out from beneath the short sleeves, and Arthur wanted to lick the lines of it.

It took a few seconds for Arthur to pay attention to the other three men. They were all dressed casually too, in jeans and t-shirts. The one on Eames’ side of the pool table was tall – really tall. He towered over Eames, standing at least a head taller than him. He had dark hair, pulled back into a messy tangle of curls at the nape of his neck, dark eyes and an easy grin on his face. He was covered in tattoos, ink peeking out over the neck of his t-shirt, and Arthur felt a vicious stab of jealously when he pulled Eames close, arm wrapped around his neck in a gesture that spoke of familiarity, both of them laughing.

“..hasn’t be that long, Keith. It will get easier.” 

Arthur’s attention snapped to Eames as he heard his voice. Eames was looking at the young man standing opposite him and a tinge of concern colored his expression. The guy looked about nineteen. He was shorter than the rest and skinny – almost unhealthily so. He wore skinny jeans and a red t-shirt that was two sizes too big for him. His messy brown hair and huge eyes served to make him look even younger. 

Part Giant (as Arthur had dubbed him in his mind) laughed, pushing Eames a little in a teasing manner. “Yeah, dude, listen to Eames. He knows what he’s talking about. Came off heroin all on his own!”

Arthur choked on air. That was the only explanation for the noise that escaped him without his consent. Eames’ mouth was already forming a retort when the noise drew all four men’s attention to him. 

Fury burst through Arthur’s chest, burning like acid. He turned, ignoring Eames’ panicked, “Shit. Arthur!”

He walked down the hallway, his pace quickening with every step. Ignoring Abbie's questioning gaze as he passed her desk, Arthur shoved through the door, his hands trembling with rage. It was raining hard now and he was soaked before he made it to the steps.

“Arthur!”

He rounded on Eames, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that this was a bad idea, that he needed to keep walking.

“I thought you were dead!” His voice shook with rage. Eames came to a stop, blood draining from his face. “I searched for you for three years and I thought you were dead! I blamed myself for leaving you before you were ready to be alone!” Arthur’s voice had risen steadily with every word and he took a deep breath to calm himself. “And all this time, you’ve been here, telling everyone how hard it was for you to come off heroin on your own. _On your own?_ How dare you?”

“Arthur, I –“ Eames took a step towards him, hand outstretched, but Arthur retreated before he could reach him.

“You were never alone.” Arthur said. “Maybe you were too fucked up to remember, but I was there. I cleaned up your vomit. I made sure you stayed hydrated and ate when you could. I held you through the fucking tremors and I cried with you when it was painful!” Arthur’s voice rose sharply again, his anger slamming back to the forefront of his mind. “And I kept the fucking door locked! I kept it locked even when you begged and moaned and roared and tore the place apart! When you attacked me and I was forced to leave, I sat outside that door and waited for you to pass out so I could go back in and clean up the mess!”

Arthur was suddenly grateful for the rain. Hopefully it hid the tears he knew were streaming down his face. “And I hated myself,” he all but sobbed, eyes closing in defeat. “I hated myself for being the kind of person who could keep you there even when you begged me to let you out. But I was that person. You asked me to _be_ that person.”

When Arthur opened his eyes Eames was standing before him, close enough that Arthur could almost feel his body heat through their sopping clothes. He met Eames’ eyes then, not bothering to hide the hurt and betrayal he felt.

“And then you disappeared. For _10 years_ , Eames. All I needed was one phone call. A text message, a fucking postcard. Just _something_ to let me know you were alive! _I thought you were dead!_ ” Arthur’s voice broke then, body wracked with sobs, and he didn’t struggle when Eames pulled him close.

He buried his face in Eames’ shoulder and allowed himself to be held. Eames ran soothing hands along Arthurs back, not bothering with platitudes, while the tears ran their course. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m so sorry,” he whispered when they finally subsided, pulling back so he could see Arthur’s face. Arthur kept his eyes closed, unable to meet Eames’ gaze. 

Eames lay his forehead gently against Arthurs, his hands coming to rest on Arthurs neck while Arthur’s fisted unconsciously in Eames’ t-shirt. They stayed that way for seemingly endless quiet seconds, just breathing in each other’s space while the rain poured around them. 

The kiss, when it came, was barely a kiss at all. Arthur wasn’t sure who initiated it, only that Eames’ lips brushed gently over his, barely even there at all, and Arthur was suddenly ravenous. He pulled hard on Eames’ t-shirt, the force making Eames stumble forward, their mouths colliding roughly, and Arthur latched on with his teeth biting into Eames’ lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. One hand moved to the back of Eames’ neck, keeping Eames there while Arthur licked his way inside, tongues tangling in a messy duel. 

He barely felt Eames’ hands on his waist dragging him around, shoving him back into the wall, and suddenly Eames was everywhere. Arthur’s coat was torn open, shoved out of the way, and he shivered as the heat of Eames’ hands penetrated through his wet shirt. His nipples pebbled in the cold and he moaned into Eames’ mouth when he felt them pinched and teased. His hips bucked uncontrollably, seeking some kind of friction and he gasped when Eames forced his leg between Arthur’s and moved closer still.

Eames was flush against him now, his mouth devouring Arthur’s, and Arthur couldn’t help the gasp that escaped when Eames’ hips slammed into his, delivering the friction he was so desperate for. His leg moved to straddle Eames’ hip without thought, and they moved in tandem, frantic thrusts into each other.

The polite cough was like a bucket of cold water over Arthur.

“Sorry for the interruption, but you’re needed inside, Mr. Eames.” Abbie sounded amused and Arthur hid his flaming face in Eames’ shoulder, mortified. They were in front of the rehab center for God’s sake. 

“I’ll be right there, thank you, Abbie.” Eames sounded perfectly composed and Arthur couldn’t help the laughter that shook him. Of course Eames was composed. Eames was unshakable.

Arthur waited until the door whooshed closed before lifting his head. Eames was watching him with a small smile Arthur couldn’t help but return.

“We should probably talk,” Eames said, pulling back gently. He rearranged Arthur’s coat back into some semblance of order.

Arthur nodded, suddenly finding spoken words beyond his capabilities.

“I’m sorry. I have to see to this.” Eames tilted his head towards the center. “Can I come over later?”

Arthur nodded again and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. Drop by when you’re done.”

“Okay.” Eames leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Arthur’s lips. His lips pulled into a small smile as he turned to walk inside.

Arthur let his head hit the wall with a long sigh. 

What the hell just happened?

+++++

The drive home was uncomfortable and not only because of his persistent erection, or even the fact that he was soaked right through and freezing. Arthur’s mind was racing, his thoughts scattered and slightly panicked.

He couldn’t remember now what he’d wanted to say to Eames in the first place. He had vague thoughts of calling a cease-fire, telling Eames they would have a professional relationship and that was all. The past was gone, along with their friendship. It was time to move on.

That didn’t seem like a viable option anymore. 

Arthur snorted and shook his head at himself in disgust. He was pathetic. He’d spent the last few weeks with his head in the proverbial sand, making sure he was too busy to _think_ , let alone feel anything. 

He parked the car and sat for a moment, his head back against the seat as his thoughts calmed. 

_I want him._

It was the thought he’d been hiding from since first setting eyes on Eames again. Now, though, he let himself feel it. It was a maelstrom, settling in his belly. Fear mixed with the bone-deep sensation of _rightness_. 

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Eames felt _right_. He felt right in the way Caitlin never had. In the way nobody had after Eames had disappeared. Arthur wasn’t celibate. He’d had lovers, plenty of them. But they were casual affairs. He’d never been remotely interested in a relationship with any of them.

He wanted a relationship with Eames. He wanted everything.

He just wasn’t sure Eames could give it to him.

+++++

Arthur showered when he got to his apartment and changed back into his casual attire of jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t bother with shoes, preferring to be barefoot in his apartment. Before long, restlessness got the better of him and he wandered aimlessly around his apartment, touching random things here and there and jumping at the slightest noise.

Sighing, Arthur grabbed his briefcase and settled on the sofa. Work would calm him down. Numbers always did. They were reliable. If they didn’t add up, it was relatively easy for him to find and fix the error. It was a soothing process for him.

He became absorbed quickly and when he finished with the Hanley file, he was surprised to note it was eleven. He felt his stomach drop to his toes, running a hand warily over his face. He jumped when his phone vibrated on the table. Grabbing it, he opened the text message quickly. The number was unknown, but Arthur hadn’t saved Eames’ number in the first place. 

_Sorry I’m so late. This is taking longer than expected. Might be another hour. Too late? E_

He quickly saved the number before replying: _No, that’s fine. See you then._

Exhaustion hit fast then, the events of the day catching up with him. Arthur lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a while, not thinking about anything. He barely noticed his eyes closing and didn’t fight it when sleep overtook him.

+++++

The knock at the door woke him with a start and Arthur almost fell off the couch in his rush to get up, flailing uncoordinatedly. Eventually he got to his feet, sleep still tugging at his mind as he walked to the door and pulled it open.

Eames smiled when he saw him, expression sheepish and shoulders hunched against the cold.  
Realization hit Arthur hard and fast, breath-taking in its intensity. _Love_. He was in love with Eames. He’d always been in love with Eames. That was why letting go of him had been so hard. That was what the sense of _rightness_ was. The reason Arthur had never wanted more than casual sex with anyone else was because Eames owned him, every single part of him. 

Fast on the heels of this epiphany came the realization that after this conversation, Arthur could be left with _nothing_. Fear and want coiled together in his gut and Arthur struggled with indecision for a moment. It didn’t take long for want to win out though.

Eames stepped through the door, his mouth shaping around words he didn’t get the chance to say because Arthur was there first. Backing Eames into the wall, he pressed close in a reversal of their earlier position. Their mouth’s fused together, Arthur’s kiss viciously hungry, and he kicked wildly behind them until he heard the door close. 

He would have this. If there was nothing tomorrow, he would have the memory of this.

Eames’ mouth opened with a gasp and Arthur’s tongue swept inside, mapping Eames’ mouth with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. Eames tasted a mixture of sour and sweet – too much sugar in coffee – and Arthur couldn’t get enough, wanted more even as he consumed.

Frantic, he pulled at Eames’ jacket, shoving the material roughly and Arthur growled in frustration when it caught on Eames’s shoulders. Levelling a glare at Eames when he laughed, Arthur pulled him away from the wall and forced the jacket down his arms, tugging it loose and sighing when it finally fell to the floor. 

“Arthur -”

His hands trembled when he reached for Eames again; panic making him dizzy now. Arthur didn’t want to talk. He wasn’t ready yet. Moving close again, he pressed his lips against Eames’ firmly, but Eames gently pushed him back, gaze concerned. 

“Arthur, we should talk.”

“Tomorrow.” Arthur’s voice shook and he hated the hint of desperation he could hear. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s just...” He stepped close again, lips ghosting over Eames’. “Just for tonight.”

He bit his tongue on the _please_ that was trying to escape. He wouldn’t beg. He _wouldn’t_.

Hesitant, he pulled back, watching carefully while Eames thought. Sadness shone in Eames’ eyes and Arthur felt his stomach plummet. Tears prickled in his eyes and he was sure he was right. Tomorrow there would be nothing. 

“For tonight then,” Eames whispered, reaching for Arthur with gentle hands, the earlier frenzy forgotten now. 

Arthur led Eames to his bedroom, inexplicably nervous now, despite being the one to push for this. And he wanted it. He just didn’t want it to end.

Shoving the thought away, Arthur pulled his t-shirt off and began opening his jeans. He ignored the blush that colored his skin and looked up to see that Eames had followed suit. He was half-naked too, his hands working at the buttons on his jeans and his eyes riveted on Arthur, tracing the contours of his chest. Arthur returned the gaze, his feet moving closer to Eames without thought. 

“Is that –“ Arthur raised his hand, his fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo on Eames’ arm. It was the design Arthur had traced for him in high school. 

Eames nodded, goose bumps rising in a trail that followed the path of Arthur’s fingers.

Arthur leaned forward and traced the tattoo with his tongue. A shiver ran through Eames and when Arthur heard his breath catch, he smiled against his skin. He flattened his hands on either side of Eames, sliding over the muscles of Eames’ chest and back at the same time. 

“Arthur.” Eames sighed as he turned to face Arthur and wrapped his arms around him. He lowered his head to place a gentle open-mouthed kiss against Arthur’s lips. Too soon, Arthur pulled back to finish stripping Eames, his fingers catching on Eames’ boxers as he shoved the jeans over Eames’ hips. He watched as Eames shuffled out of them, his eyes following every inch of skin revealed, before they came to rest on Eames’ cock.

It was hard, the head thick and partially covered by foreskin, standing erect and away from Eames’ stomach. Arthur reached out unthinking and traced his thumb over the wet head, collecting the drop of pre-come visible there. Their eyes met as he dragged the liquid across his tongue; the bitter, salty taste barely present before Eames was there, sucking the taste from Arthur’s mouth. 

Arthur moaned and curled his fingers into the short hair at the nape of Eames’ neck, holding him there as he followed the taste back into Eames’ mouth. He sucked fervently on Eames’ tongue, but the taste remained elusive. Lust tore through Arthur, sharp and irresistible, and with it came impatience.

He pushed Eames back, heard him gasp as he stumbled and fell in a sprawl on Arthur’s bed, his arms stretched out to catch himself. Following, Arthur crawled over Eames, licking a trail from his belly up his chest and over his neck until he found his way back into Eames’ mouth again. Eames kissed him back, breathing harsh as he ran his hands down Arthur’s back, into the gap left by his open jeans. 

Arthur gasped as Eames grabbed his ass firmly and ground Arthur’s jean-clad cock against his own.  
A full body tremor shook him as Eames’ fingers pushed lower, finding his entrance and teasing there, his finger tracing in small circles around the tight hole before pressing inside shallowly.

Arthur wrenched his mouth away and rested his forehead on Eames’ shoulder, torn between the instinct to grind his cock against Eames’ and the need to fuck himself back onto Eames’ finger.

His breath came in shallow gasps against Eames’ shoulder, his body shivering with a want that made him burn. “God, fuck!” he panted, sure he was going to come, just like this, inside his jeans like a pubescent boy if he didn’t stop. It was far too soon to be so overwhelmed but Arthur couldn’t help it. He _needed_.

“Get these off, Arthur,” Eames ground out, his voice rough and his hands demanding as they shoved at Arthur’s jeans.

Arthur pulled back, crawling off Eames altogether, and stood for a moment, staring. God, Eames was beautiful like this; lips swollen and spit slick, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps and eyes blown wide with lust. When Arthur’s gaze fell to the trail of pre-come strung out from the tip of Eames’ dick to the small pool gathered on his belly, his mouth watered. 

So eager, he barely had the patience to shove his jeans off before he was back; crawling between Eames spread legs, hands running along strong thighs. He ran his tongue hungrily over Eames’ balls, tracing up over his dick before lapping at the pre-come gathered at the tip. The taste Arthur had been craving burst over his tongue and he followed it, lapping greedily at the pool on Eames’ belly.

Eames moaned and Arthur could see his hands clutching at the sheets tightly from the corner of his eye. He moved back up slowly, feeling Eames shiver when Arthur dragged his tongue across the head of his cock. Using his hand to ease the foreskin back, Arthur circled the head with his tongue before he took Eames into his mouth. Eyes closed for a moment, Arthur savored the feeling of _finally_ having Eames, thick, heavy, and _perfect_ in his mouth.

He inhaled the musky scent of Eames as his tongue swirled, teasingly. A groan escaped him as he started a steady suction, the taste of pre-come strong and bitter on his tongue.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames moaned, his hips locked against instinctual thrusts. 

Arthur could see his knuckles were white now with the force Eames used to grip the sheets and Arthur wanted more, wanted to see Eames lose control. Intent and fighting a smile, Arthur took a deep breath through his nose and took all of Eames into his mouth. His throat contracted, tried to force the obstruction out, but Arthur just swallowed around him.

“Shit, _fuck_ ,” Eames shouted, voice wrecked and hips thrusting a little into Arthur’s mouth now. Arthur moaned around him, setting a steady rhythm and gradually taking more, sucking harder.

His hands found Eames’, uncurling them from the sheets and pressing them against his head, hoping Eames would get the hint. Hoping he wouldn’t need to stop and explain. 

“God, Arthur,” Eames gasped as his hands curled in Arthur’s hair. He used the grip to take control and Arthur hummed his approval, greedy for every inch Eames fed him. Eames’ hips moved in a steady rhythm, fucking Arthur’s mouth in sharp, fast thrusts. “God, fuck, _fuck_... so perfect, Arthur...” 

Arthur was so hard now, his cock desperate for attention, and he could feel the slick wetness on his belly where it was bobbing ineffectually. His eyes sought Eames’ hungrily and he couldn’t contain the frantic groan that escaped him when he saw that Eames looked wrecked, sweat gathering on his brow, his eyes ravenous and focused intensely on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Arthur’s mouth.

The groan apparently was too much. “Shit, fuck, _shit!_ ” Eames cried out, pulling Arthur away roughly. He dug his head back into the bed, eyes squeezed tight and body taut. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped out a moment later. “Too early… fuck, Arthur, I don’t want to come yet.”

Arthur was gasping too, fighting the urge to use his hand, to fuck his fist until he came all over Eames. Shudders wracked his body and he went willingly into Eames’ arms when he sat forward and pulled him close. 

They sat intertwined – Arthur’s legs around Eames’ hips and Eames’ around his, their foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath – for a long time. They traded soft kisses, their hands tracing over each other in smooth gentle strokes.

When they were calm again, Arthur reached past Eames, grabbed the lube from his nightstand and handed it over. “Can you...?” He took a deep breath, “I really need you inside me.”

Eames took the lube and kissed Arthur again, a soft chaste touch of lips, before he nodded. “Lie down?”

Arthur complied immediately, moving to lie on his back. Butterflies danced in his belly and Arthur took a deep breath. His need far outweighed the nervousness Arthur felt, but it had been a while for him. 

Eames lay alongside him, his mouth recapturing Arthur’s while he slicked his fingers. Arthur lifted his legs when Eames reached for him, opening himself for Eames’ fingers. 

“Hold on to the headboard. Don’t let go.” The words were whispered against Arthur’s lips and he shivered at the order, but he raised his arms. This was one of the reasons he’d chosen the bed. It was a simple design; plain vertical bars topped with a long horizontal bar. It was strong and the bars made tying him up a simple feat. Arthur didn’t allow it all that often but sometimes he just needed to give control to another, though.

He shivered as he felt one of Eames’ fingers enter him, the intrusion stretching a little uncomfortably at first. A moment later he was distracted by Eames’ mouth at his own, his tongue mimicking his fingers actions. Arthur sighed and opened his mouth wider, kissing Eames back as his body began to relax.

Losing himself in the sensation for a while, Arthur fucked himself on Eames’ fingers, gasping when Eames brushed his prostate again and again. Eames’ tongue still fucked his mouth and Arthur could feel Eames’ cock hard against his thigh and moving in small uncontrollable thrusts against him. It was taking every ounce of control Arthur had not to move his hands, not to palm his cock to orgasm right there. Pre-come was pooling on his belly and Eames’ fingers were pushing him closer to his orgasm with every brush against his prostate. 

He pulled his mouth free, out of breath and desperate. “God, fuck, _please_ Eames!” he rasped, voice raw. “Please fuck me, please, please...” he begged and Eames moved faster than Arthur had ever seen him. Grabbing a condom from the bedside table, he rolled it on quickly. Arthur’s hands were almost ripped from the bars as Eames tugged him closer roughly, but he held tight as Eames pushed his legs back and lined himself up. 

There was no slow entry, both men too worked up for that. A cry escaped Arthur as Eames fucked into him, bottoming out in one long thrust. 

“God, yes!” Eames moaned, mouth tracing over Arthur’s chest and up to his throat. He stayed like that for a moment, buried deep inside Arthur as he waited for Arthur to catch his breath.

“Move!” Arthur ordered, wrapping his legs around Eames’ hips and sighing in relief when Eames obeyed. 

It was fast and hard, Eames’ thrusts getting deeper and more forceful with each repetition until Arthur was sure he was going to come apart. He could feel his cock between them, desperate for attention, and he didn’t think before he reached for it. Eames was quick though, even distracted as he was, and he grabbed Arthur’s hands, holding them down above his head. 

“Agh! Sorry.” Arthur cried out, and he felt Eames fucking right into his prostate, again and again. He was so close, his dick begging for attention. One touch and he’d be gone, broken into a million perfect pieces. “I need... Eames please, I need to come!” he sobbed desperately, struggling against Eames’ grasp.

“No,” Eames whispered, mouth at Arthur’s ear. “You can come like this, Arthur. Come just from me fucking you.”

His thrusts got impossibly faster, ramming quick and vicious against Arthur’s prostate. “Come for me, Arthur.” 

And Arthur did, his body pulled taut and Eames’ name on his lips as he felt the orgasm tear through him in wave after wave of uncontrollable pleasure. Eames fucked into him hard and deep one more time, sending tremors through Arthur’s over sensitised body before he went rigid and gasped something unintelligible against Arthur’s throat.

“Arthur,” Eames whispered in the aftermath, and Arthur couldn’t help but turn his head and catch his lips with his own. They kissed, a slow and gentle slide of tongue, lazy. Eames moved then, taking his weight off Arthur and laying alongside him instead. They lay, faces turned toward each other, eyes locked and captivated with each other. 

Exhaustion crept up on Arthur slowly, leaving his eyes heavy and thought impossible. 

“Hold on,” Eames whispered, kissing his forehead before leaving the bed.

Arthur was asleep before he returned.

+++++

Arthur awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the sensation of being held down. He opened his eyes and winced at the sunlight streaming right into them. They hadn’t closed the blinds the night before and the sun was already high in the sky. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, only vaguely remembered Eames leaving the bed. He’d come back, though, and the lack of stickiness suggested he’d cleaned them up before going to sleep himself. 

Eames’ limbs surrounded Arthur in a manner resembling an octopus, both his arms and legs trapping Arthur’s back to his chest. Arthur could feel every breath he took, moist against the nape of his neck.

He closed his eyes and savoured the moment, trying to memorise how Eames felt wrapped around him. He would have to rise soon, would have to prepare himself for the end. There could be no friendship now. Not after last night. Not when he knew how perfect they were together. 

He let his thoughts wander over the events of the night before. A shiver ran through him when he thought of how Eames had fucked his mouth, how he’d read Arthur’s thoughts and held him down. How he’d come so hard just from being told to. God, it had been perfect. It was still perfect. Arthur couldn’t think of a better way to wake up than held tight against Eames’ chest.

Eventually, though, he forced himself to move. He gently pried Eames arms loose, disentangling their legs, and made to leave the bed, only to find himself pulled back, firmly ensconced in Eames’ grasp again. 

“You better have a bloody good reason for wanting out of this bed, Arthur.” Eames’ voice was sleep-rough, the words mumbled against Arthur’s skin. 

“I was going to put on some coffee actually,” Arthur said, making sure the smile he was fighting wasn’t present in his voice.

“Mmm, later,” Eames mumbled and pressed soft kisses along the line of Arthur’s neck. Arthur could feel the hard line of Eames’ erection pressing against his ass and he ground his hips back, laughing when Eames groaned and nipped at the tender flesh behind his ear.

Arthur’s dick was hardening in obvious approval of this new turn of events. Eames flipped him onto his back and captured his lips in a greedy kiss. Arthur opened for him, returning the kiss as he dragged Eames atop him. They shifted together, aligning their hips and grinding into each other. The friction was exquisite and, before long, they were breathless, hips rolling lazily together, gazes locked and lost in each other.

+++++

They emerged later, freshly showered and quiet, content in each other’s company. Arthur made a pot of coffee while Eames raided the kitchen’s contents, eventually compiling the ingredients for pancakes. He watched as Eames mixed the batter, fetched a pan and started cooking as though he’d been doing so in Arthur’s kitchen for years.

He was pouring the coffee, his back turned, when Eames spoke, his voice low, but perfectly audible. “I never told anyone I came off the heroin alone.”

Arthur stiffened at the words, the sense of contentment draining away as his chest constricted painfully.

“I remember ever second of that time, Arthur. I remember how well you cared for me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, just turned to hand Eames one of the mugs. He leaned against the worktop and took a sip from his own mug as he waited for Eames to go on.

“Len – the guy from the center – he was one of the first people I met in New York. He’s the one who told me about the meetings at Wilsons. He went to them regularly. He practically dragged me along the first time.” Eames snorted, gaze far away for a moment. “Persistent bastard. I went just to shut him up, but he was right. It helped. A lot.”

A sad smile tugged at his lips and he looked up to meet Arthur’s gaze. “I told him about you. In that first year I talked about you all the time and Len was convinced you were a figment of my imagination, a hallucination brought on by the withdrawal.” Eames laughed, the sound hollow somehow. “I think I would have believed him too, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were there before. Before I started using.”

Arthur’s gut twisted painfully, the urge to go to Eames – to hold him – almost overwhelming. He hadn’t given any real thought to what it would have been like for Eames, finding his feet in a new city. 

“Why did you leave? I thought –” Arthur bit his tongue on the words, not even sure how they’d slipped out in the first place. “ _I_ thought.” Bitterness colored his tone and he rolled his eyes at himself, remembering how naive he’d been – how _oblivious_ he had been. 

Eames piled the pancakes onto a plate, shut off the stove and turned to face Arthur fully. 

“If I had stayed, what do you think would have happened, Arthur?” He asked, arms folded, posture relaxed. 

He didn’t give Arthur a chance to reply, though. “I was a train wreck, an addict with no education, nowhere to live. I had no idea what I wanted to _do_ with my life. I was utterly worthless. And _you_ ,” he took a step closer, arms outstretched, gesturing to the apartment, “you had _plans_ , Arthur. You were going to _be_ something, go to college. You were going to New York.”

Arthur stared, wide eyed and unable to formulate a single thought, let alone a response to that. 

“I _had_ to leave, Arthur,” Eames said, pleading now, but Arthur didn’t know what for. “I did it all wrong, I can see that now and I’m _sorry_. I am so sorry. I didn’t realize... I thought you’d forget about me.” He dragged a hand through his hair, his face ashen. A small laugh escaped him and he shook his head, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “I thought, if I was lucky, you would wonder what happened to me every so often. I had no idea that you would search for me, that you _cared_ enough for that. It’s so obvious when I think of it now, but I wasn’t thinking clearly then. ”

Arthur found himself choking on a thousand words trying to leave his mouth at once. “I –” he cut himself off again, vying for calm. His thoughts were in chaos and he tried to form some kind of order.  
“Forget about you? How was I supposed to forget about you, Eames? After everything we’d been through together?” He clenched his fists, ignoring the way he trembled and how shaky his voice was. “I know it was only three weeks and maybe it shouldn’t have mattered so much, but it did. It was _everything_.” Tears blurred his vision and Arthur ached with the need to make Eames understand. He didn’t have the words to articulate how important those weeks had been, how much he’d wanted - _loved_ Eames. How scared he’d been when Eames had disappeared.

“I was in love with you, you idiot,” he gritted out, unable to look Eames in the eyes. “And I was _terrified_.” He didn’t get to say any more because Eames was there, his mouth claiming Arthur’s and Arthur clung, opening under the pressure of Eames’ mouth, sucking at his tongue.

Eames shoved him up onto counter and Arthur wrapped his legs around him, pulling him closer and locking him into place. He could taste the salty residue of tears and he wasn’t sure if they were his or Eames’, but he didn’t care. He clung like a vine, sure that he would never be able to let go now. 

Eames tore his mouth away and cupped Arthur’s face to stare into his eyes. “Tell me it’s not too late?” He asked, _begged_. “Please. Please, Arthur, tell me it’s not too late?”

“For what?” Arthur asked in a whisper, too afraid to hope.

Eames pressed small, fervent kisses against his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks and finally his mouth. “I was in love with you then. I’m still so in love with you,” he whispered between kisses and Arthur felt his heart try to beat its way out of his chest. “But I didn’t deserve you and I was so scared. I was terrified that I would hold you back. And I would have, Arthur, you have to see that?” He looked at Arthur, his eyes intent and begging him to understand and Arthur _did_. He hated himself for it, but he knew what would have happened if Eames had stayed. 

He wouldn’t have gone to college. He’d have gotten a job straight out of school so he could be with Eames. He’d have promised he was happy to stay, that college wasn’t important to him. But he’d have hated it. He’d have hated every minute of it. And he’d have worried endlessly. He’d had no faith in Eames’ strength then. He hadn’t known that strength existed then. 

It was all so clear to him suddenly – the _why_ he’d never let himself think about. Now, with Eames standing before him, healthy, strong, _clean_ , now it was clear. Eames would have substituted the drugs with Arthur, would have depended on him instead. He wouldn’t have stood on his own two feet. He’d never have been independent.

“I had to figure out how to _be_ ,” Eames whispered. “I did it all wrong, I know that now. I’m so sorry.” He kissed Arthur again. “And I’m not sure I could ever deserve you, Arthur, but I can try. I will try. Every day if you’ll let me. Just tell me it’s not too late?”

Arthur reached up and covered Eames hands with his own. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Eames’. Love and fear warred inside him and Arthur fought to calm himself. He was in love. He was loved. He could have this. _He could have this._

He took a deep breath and met Eames’ gaze before he whispered, “It’s not too late.” 

Fin.


End file.
